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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210073">a little TLC</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis'>sainnis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sheith Medschool AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Caretaking, Established Relationship, Fever, Heartbeats, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, M/M, Medical School, Pet Names, Sick Shiro (Voltron), Sickfic, Soft Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Trust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:09:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,676</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210073</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sainnis/pseuds/sainnis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Shiro falls ill with the flu, he's determined to power through on his own. Though he attempts to isolate himself, Keith reminds Shiro that he doesn’t need to suffer alone, and sweet caretaking ensues.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Sheith Medschool AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a little TLC</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set after the events of You're My Medicine, You Feel Like Home, and Steady As We Go; Keith and Shiro are roommates and medical students who navigate their hectic academic schedules and their deepening relationship. </p><p>This fic could be read as a standalone but builds on events in the earlier medschool!AU fics.</p><p>--<br/>Sometimes @goldentruth813 says "I really want sickfic" and then it makes ME want sickfic, and well, I wrote some. Big thanks to Janel for all the cheerleading and encouragement! If you're having a rough day, I hope this bit of comfort helps.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is nothing like waking up next to Keith. </p><p>The warmth under the blankets radiates from his lean frame, slips along their tangled legs, rises along with his ribs as he breathes softly, still deep in sleep. As exhausted as he is, barely getting a few hours after getting through notes from lectures last night, there’s a sweetness in getting to see Keith crashed out so completely next to him that makes his early wakeup worthwhile. Keith’s sprawled on his side, one arm flung over his head, and the other wedged underneath Shiro's shirt, as if his boyfriend was trying to grab a handful of pec in his sleep. Keith’s not snoring, but his breathing comes out in soft puffs, regular and deep. Dark hair falls over his forehead and the slightest hint of a smile plays at his relaxed lips. </p><p>He’s stunning. Beyond.</p><p>Shiro reaches out and brushes Keith’s hair lightly away from his forehead. Looking at Keith makes him almost forget how much his head hurts, how scratchy his throat feets. He swallows, wincing. Just a stupid cold. If he was a kinder man, a less selfish man, he’d get up right now and get away from Keith. The last thing they both need is a head cold. But the bed is so warm, and Keith is so pretty, and Keith’s hand is curled against his chest, and Shiro’s weak. </p><p>Instead, he watches Keith sleep and tries to will away the dull pain in his head. He dreads the alarm going off because he knows he’ll have to get up, and yet when it does, Keith’ll groan and press into Shiro’s chest, kissing whatever skin is in reach, and Shiro loves that moment so much that he counts down to the alarm’s shrill sounding. </p><p>When it does, Keith lets out a moan, rolling towards Shiro. “Mmm,” he says, before taking a breath and looking up into Shiro’s face. “Morning, sunshine.”</p><p>“Morning, baby,” Shiro says, kissing the top of Keith’s head. </p><p>“Don’t wanna get up,” Keith says, his voice close to a growl. “Wanna stay in bed with you.”</p><p>“Me too,” Shiro says. “Me too.”</p><p>Keith lifts his head, peering at Shiro’s face in the faint glow of the moon lamp. “Your voice sounds funny.”</p><p>“Funny how?”</p><p>“Like hoarse.” Keith frowns, scooting up into a sitting position before resting the back of his hand against Shiro’s forehead. “Are you getting sick?”</p><p>“I’m not sick,” Shiro protests, but he can’t help but press into the cool comfort of Keith’s hand. “Allergies.”</p><p>“It’s winter.”</p><p>“Okay, so like mold? You know? In the ceiling?”</p><p>“We don’t have mold.” Keith touches Shiro’s neck, feeling his glands. As if they’ve gotten to that yet in class. “You have a cold?”</p><p>“It’s not. It’s just a headache from being up late. And I talked all day at work yesterday so.” He clears his throat. “You know.”</p><p>“All right, all right. We all know you’re a perfect specimen of humanity.” Keith pats Shiro’s abs. “Can I grab your prosthetic for you?”</p><p>This part’s new. </p><p>It happened for the first time last week. They’d fallen asleep on the couch and Shiro’s shoulder was sore after a long day. Keith’s fingers reached instinctually for Shiro’s right arm before suddenly pulling back, eyes wide. Shiro had nodded, wordless, and Keith had reached out, gently touching the small release that allowed the prosthetic to come away. For a moment, Shiro felt like he was naked again in front of Keith for the first time. Keith’s eyes landed on the base of Shiro’s bicep, the place where his arm ends, and his fingers cupped the stump. Shiro couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The touch was electric, sending shockwaves through Shiro’s body. The sheer gentleness of Keith’s movements brought tears to Shiro’s eyes. </p><p>“Is this okay?” Keith had asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Shiro whispered back. </p><p>Since then, there’s been more soft touches. Handing Shiro his prosthetic in the morning. Encouraging him to take it off before 3am. It’s all new levels of vulnerability. Just when he thinks Keith can’t get closer, he does.</p><p>“Here you go, love. You want me to do it?” Keith gives him a little smile, made slightly comical by the pillow marks pressed into Keith’s cheeks. </p><p>“I…” Shiro swallows, trying not to wince. “Yeah, baby. That would be nice.”</p><p>Keith’s not as adept as Shiro at putting on his prosthetic yet, but he’s getting there. It’s precious to watch him poke his tongue out between his teeth as he positions the metal just right, lining up its position with Shiro’s bicep. “Okay, I’m almost there, just let me--there!” Keith lets out a little whoop of joy when it lights up. “Feel okay?”</p><p>Shiro wiggles his fingers before reaching up to cup Keith’s face. “Feels perfect.”</p><p>Keith leans forward and kisses Shiro’s forehead. “You still sound sick. You should stay here. Get sleep. I can take notes.”</p><p>“Oh, my God, no.” Shiro lets out a laugh. “I love you, and you’re my favorite, but I have to do my own notes.”</p><p>“You’re kind of a control freak with the notes.”</p><p>“I’m particular.”</p><p>“You are that.” Keith goes in for a kiss. “Get in the shower. I’ll make coffee. We gotta get moving.”</p><p>++</p><p>Shiro blinks his way through lectures, his pencil skipping off his tablet as he jerks to wakefulness again and again. Normally, his notes are a point of pride: his handwriting neat, his highlighter color coded, even adding images from his professors’ slides onto the page with further analysis. Today, they look like a tantruming toddler wrote them, the words slurring together. His throat feels like barbed wire’s been shoved inside and not even the 32 oz tumbler of tea and honey Keith prepared for him makes a difference. </p><p>He slams back three Advil and forces himself to eat a few bites of a protein bar, but it tastes like cardboard. His stomach doesn’t seem to like it, so he trashes the rest, blowing Keith a kiss as he heads off to the tutoring center. Normally he tries to be attentive to his tutees, but today he can barely remember which subjects they’re studying. He forgets one of their names halfway through a session. His head feels heavier than a kettlebell and all he wants to do is lie down on the tile floor under the table. Through some cosmic mercy, his last appointment doesn’t show, and he drags himself out of the tutoring center and back across campus, sipping at his water bottle to stop the coughs that keep forming at the base of his throat. All he wants is to get home and fall into Keith’s arms.</p><p>Except the apartment’s dark when he gets home. Fuck. He forgot Keith had a late lab tonight. </p><p>He feels a breath catch inside him as absolute misery rolls through his body. Tugging off his shoes, he dumps his backpack at the door and trudges into the kitchen, opening the fridge. Shit. He was supposed to go shopping on the way home; they’re out of nearly all their usual staples. Slamming the door, he opens the pantry and stares at cans of soup and packages of ramen. After having his heart set on Keith making him food, on having Keith be his sweet, lovely self and taking pity on his wretched state, the complete <i>lack</i> of Keith is enough to make him want to sob. </p><p>Everything hurts and nothing sounds good. Not even tea.</p><p>He fills his water bottle--even with whatever horror he has wreaking havoc inside him, he knows at least to hydrate--and leaves the kitchen, crossing the living room and standing in front of their adjoining bedrooms. Keith’s side beckons with its cozy furnishings, warm lighting, and best of all, a bed that smells like him. He takes a step towards it, and then, no.</p><p>Whatever this is, Keith can’t catch it. It’s bad enough they kissed this morning. For Keith’s sake, he needs to stay away from him. It’s the last thing Shiro wants, and his need to feel Keith’s arms around him is practically a physical ache, but it’s the right thing to do. It’s the <i>future doctor</i> thing to do. </p><p>He forces himself across the threshold of his bedroom, turning on the night light beside the desk. It hasn’t been on, Shiro realizes, since the last time he slept alone. The night before he and Keith confessed their feelings. Before everything changed. The light looks cold somehow, weak in comparison to the moon lamp. Shiro sighs, pulling off his clothes. Shit, it’s cold in here. He yanks on pajamas, his oldest, threadbare pair, and an old cotton t-shirt from a band he hasn’t listened to since before med school. By the time he gets to his perfectly made bed--so unlike Keith’s usual messy nest of blankets--he’s shivering. The crisp sheets feel rough against his skin, the blankets unfamiliar. Curling onto his side, he feels his eyes brim with tears. God, he hates being sick. </p><p>Maybe it’s just a 24-hour thing. He can sleep it off. He’s done it before. If he can just get some rest, he can let his immune system do what it’s supposed to do. Pulling the blankets up to his chin, it takes a long time before he stops shaking and finally slides into a sort of dozy half-sleep. </p><p>It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when he hears Keith speak softly in the dark. “Hey, baby.”</p><p>Shiro startles, head aching. He groans. Keith’s standing next to his bed, his outline barely visible in the low illumination from the night light. “You shouldn’t,” he says, voice ragged. “Be in here. Shouldn’t be close to me.”</p><p>“Too late.” Instead of leaving, Keith settles on the bed beside him, turning on the little reading lamp by the bed. “What’re you doing in here all alone? You didn’t answer my texts. I got worried.” </p><p>“Sorry,” Shiro says, coughing into his elbow. “Left my phone. In my bag.” He tries to chug some water to help stave off the cough, but it only alleviates the pain for a moment. “I forgot to get food.”</p><p>“Shh,” Keith says, smoothing a hand over Shiro’s hair. “I stopped and got you some egg drop soup from the place you like. You want some?”</p><p>Shiro shakes his head, wincing. “Not yet. Stomach feels a little bad.”</p><p>“No offense, sweetheart, but you look pretty rough.” Keith’s palm touches Shiro’s cheek. “Have you checked your temperature at all? I’m pretty sure you’ve got a fever.”</p><p>“It’s not that bad. A cold,” Shiro says at the same moment his traitorous body starts up with chills. </p><p>“I don’t think this is a cold.” Keith pulls him close for a moment, just wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. Just the momentary pressure of Keith’s body is enough to make Shiro’s breath shudder. Being alone when he’s sick is something he can handle; he knows his own body and can hide away until he’s well. This, though, letting Keith see him when he’s coughing and miserable and snot-nosed and shaky with fever; it’s another thing entirely. </p><p>“Don’t worry about me.” Shiro coughs again, hoping that maybe the grossness of the sound will wave Keith off. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Keith, of course, isn’t bothered in the slightest by anything gross. It’s one of his superpowers. “I know you will, because I’m gonna take care of you. Let me grab a few things and I’ll be right back, okay?”</p><p>He collapses back against the pillow as Keith pets a hand over his hair before he slips off to the bathroom. As soon as Shiro reclines, the cough blooms in his chest again, rising up his throat and rattling his chest. Keith has to know better than to linger long with him. There’s no doubt he’s contagious and he can’t bear to think of Keith with this horrible plague. </p><p>Keith returns a few minutes later with a small basket of items, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Shiro’s slumped form. “I’m just gonna get your temp first. Can you open up for me?” Keith holds out the digital thermometer and Shiro lets him put it under his tongue. The plastic and metal probe tastes bad and it’s almost impossible not to cough, but the thermometer finally beeps. “Oof. 101.9.” Keith’s cool hand presses against Shiro’s cheek. “Poor baby. This is definitely the flu.”</p><p>“It can’t be,” Shiro wheezes, covering his cough with his elbow. “I get a flu shot every year.”</p><p>“40% effective on average, love, remember? Guess it snuck in on you. At least your symptoms won’t be as terrible.” Keith kisses his sweaty forehead. “And you’ve got me.”</p><p>Shiro lets out a soft groan, resting his head on Keith’s thigh. God, he loves his thighs. “This is the last thing you need.”</p><p>“What, taking care of you? Please.” Keith says. “Easiest thing in the world.”</p><p>“Don’t want you to get sick.”</p><p>“Mm, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.” </p><p>Warm fingers wrap around Shiro’s wrist, gently pressing, and he blinks up at Keith. “What’re you doing?”</p><p>“I’m checking your pulse. And you made me lose count. Hold on.” Keith’s serious expression, so soft and yet so focused, makes Shiro’s stomach flutter. “You’re a little fast there, baby. Let’s get you some acetaminophen and see if we can bring your fever down a bit.”</p><p>Shiro frowns. “Like how fast?”</p><p>“You’re, like 105-110. Nothing to worry about. Just uncomfortable, probably.” Keith pulls out a pill bottle from the basket. “All right. A couple of these should help reduce the fever and give your system a little break.”</p><p>He tries to sit up, but the room wavers a smidge and Keith catches him, steadying his shoulders. “Hey, take it easy. I’m right here.”</p><p>“Fuck,” Shiro says, taking the pills and sipping some water to get them down his parched throat. “Sorry. Kinda dizzy.”</p><p>Keith keeps an arm around him and Shiro lets his weight fall, knowing Keith can handle it. “There you go. Just rest on me.” He uses his free hand to dig in the basket, pulling out a tiny box. “I know you said you’re not hungry, but try a little juice for me. You need a few calories and some sugar.” </p><p>Shiro slowly lifts his head. “You got me juice boxes?”</p><p>“Of course I did. White grape. I know the kind you like. I know all the things you like.” Keith props a few pillows behind Shiro so he can recline, and then he pokes the little straw into the box, handing it to him. “Here.”</p><p>Shiro takes a sip, letting the sweet juice tip down his cough-abused throat. “Tastes good.”</p><p>“I got you some cough medicine, too. I heard you trying to stifle the sounds in class.” Keith pulls out a bottle. “They were out of the gelcaps, though, so it’s liquid. Fake orange, your favorite.”</p><p>Shiro wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”</p><p>“And yet so helpful for letting you actually sleep tonight. The coughing will keep us both up and I’d much rather see you resting.” Keith pours out the measurement in a tiny plastic cup. </p><p>“You need to,” Shiro says, breaking into another series of awful coughs, wracking his ribs. “Shit. You need to sleep in your room.”</p><p>Keith snorts. “No, I don’t. I’m staying with you.”</p><p>“But I’m a misery. I’m coughing and I’m sweaty and whiny. Who wants to be around that?”</p><p>“Um, I do?” Keith raises his hand to emphasize his point. “I love you. I’m not just here for happy, studious or makeout Shiro. I’m here for mad Shiro. Sad Shiro. Fever of 102 Shiro. All the Shiros deserve love.” He leans forward to kiss Shiro’s forehead.  “Especially sick with the flu Shiro.”</p><p>A lump forms in Shiro’s throat that has nothing to do with his illness and his vision blurs over with tears. “This is the worst Shiro.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, it’s not. You just feel awful and you’re sleep-deprived. You’ll feel better in a few days.” Keith squeezes around his shoulders, letting out a soft breath. “All you need to do is rest right now, okay? And drink this.” He holds up the plastic dispenser cup to Shiro’s mouth. </p><p>The medicine smells like fake citrus and leaves a nasty film on his tongue. “God.” Shiro says, coughing before taking another sip of juice. The flavor of medicine and grape juice combine and he grimaces, shaking his head. “That shit is disgusting.” Keith’s mouth twists and Shiro realizes he’s trying not to laugh at him. “You taste it! It’s like an orange soaked in floor cleaner.”</p><p>“I’m not laughing at you, baby. My brave boy who’s survived countless medical procedures is undone by the cough syrup.” Keith puts the basket aside and stands, brushing a palm over Shiro’s cheek. “It’s one of the most <i>you</i> things I’ve ever heard.”</p><p>“The big stuff,” Shiro says, voice ragged, “feels more manageable. Like it’s easier to face.” He lets out a soft sigh as Keith brushes his hair back from his overheated skin. </p><p>Keith steps back, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. “Major surgery is easier than the flu?”</p><p>“I don’t know.” Shiro tips over and lands on pillows. His nose is stopped up and he hates the thin tone of his voice.</p><p>Keith pulls off his track pants before climbing onto the bed in a t-shirt and boxer briefs. Normally the sight would have Shiro trying to pin Keith to the mattress with a kiss, or vice versa, but Shiro can barely even roll over. “I think I get what you mean. Like, you gear up for the life-altering shit, but the flu’s just a fucking bully. It just hits you between the eyes and you’re down for the count.” He pats Shiro’s thigh. “What you need are pajamas. Nice, clean, non-sweaty pajamas.”</p><p>“I can’t sit up,” Shiro moans.</p><p>“Good thing I’m ripped.” Keith barks a laugh, making muscles on his way over to the chest of drawers. </p><p>His posturing, even for a joke, makes Shiro smile a little. “My boyfriend. So strong.”  </p><p>“You’re the ‘small cars are just part of my usual lift day’ guy.” Keith returns to the bed with clean clothes and he turns Shiro’s body on the mattress, swinging his legs out over the edge. “All right. Pants coming off.”</p><p>The ways in which Keith can actually move him around, lift him up, bear his weight, is actually super fucking hot and under other circumstances, Shiro would have been hard already, but not tonight. Instead, all he can do is cough a little and be grateful when his joggers and underwear come off, replaced by a cool pair of cotton sleep pants. “Thank you,” he says, feeling the weepiness from before rise up again.</p><p>“We’re not done yet.” Keith steps between his open legs and gently helps Shiro sit up. “New shirt for you too.” He tugs Shiro’s shirt off, careful around his right arm. Keith’s always so conscientious, so careful. “What do you want to do with your prosthetic?”</p><p>Shiro rests his head against Keith’s abdomen. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Does it mess with your temperature at all? I read an article where people with this style of prosthetic--” Keith stops. “People with the flu don’t want to hear about research from <i>The Lancet</i>.”</p><p>“Wait,” Shiro says, looking up. “You’re reading articles about my prosthetic?”</p><p>A flush rises on Keith’s cheeks. “I’ve made it through a couple year’s worth but there’s lots more to go.” He runs his hand along Shiro’s right arm, from shoulder to wrist. “I just want to learn everything I can in case, you know, it helps you at all. And like, I know I can never understand it like you, but. You know.”</p><p>“You’re saying one of your love languages is reading journal articles about my prosthetic.”</p><p>“I’m saying,” Keith says, pulling a clean t-shirt over Shiro’s head, “that a study from last year indicated that the prosthetic can increase patient temperature by .5-1 degree when febrile. You’re already over 100, so maybe--”</p><p>“You wanna take it off for me?” Shiro lifts his right hand. It feels so natural to let Keith touch him, to let his deft fingers find the release. </p><p>“There we go,” Keith says softly, easing Shiro’s arm away and settling it near the bed. His fingers press into Shiro’s shoulder, lightly kneading over the muscle. “You think you can rest now?”</p><p>Shiro grabs Keith’s hip, squeezing it. “Maybe.”</p><p>“I believe in you.” Keith helps him back against the pillows before sliding in next to him. “Ooh, this feels like a sleepover, staying in your room.” </p><p>As soon as Keith settles, Shiro curls on his side, yanking up the hem of Keith’s shirt so he can press his face over Keith’s stomach. His skin feels blissfully cool. “That’s better,” he mutters.</p><p>“Baby, you sure you’re comfortable like that?”</p><p>“Mmm-hmm.”</p><p>Keith lets out a soft laugh and starts finger-combing through Shiro’s hair, his fingertips making smooth, gentle tracks along Shiro’s scalp. “You feeling any better at all, or just the same?”</p><p>“The same,” Shiro says, his voice muffled a bit. “But better with you.” Keith’s stomach rises and falls slowly with his breath, and when he exhales, Shiro can feel the slight vibration of Keith’s pulse. He loves the soft skin over Keith’s abs, a contradiction of lean muscle and gentle flesh. </p><p>The pressure of Keith’s fingertips over the undercut at the base of Shiro’s skull makes Shiro’s breath stutter. “Just relax. You have nothing to do right now except just breathe and rest, okay?”</p><p>Shiro lets out a pitiful moan. “All those lectures. I’ll be so behind.”</p><p>“I’ll help you catch up.” Keith’s fingers keep circling, carding through his hair.</p><p>The desire to freak out wars with the sleep-inducing movements of Keith’s hands. “But I can’t read your handwriting.”</p><p>“I’ll translate it for you. Don’t worry.”</p><p>Fuck. The to-do list in his head starts to appear, and the urge to get up and start working on his lecture notes is so strong the muscles of his legs twitch. He presses more tightly against Keith. “Talk to me. About anything. Not school. Please.”</p><p>“Hmm. Okay.” Keith not-so-subtlely rests the back of his hand against Shiro’s forehead for a few moments. “Let’s see. Well, I want a dog.”</p><p>Shiro coughs. “Now?”</p><p>“No, not now. That would be unfair to the poor dog. I mean, like, in the future. When residency is done. And things are stable. I’m saying I’ve always wanted a dog, and because we moved so much, I never had one. And sometimes I think a spunky little one would be so cute, and then other times I think I want a funny, huge one that thinks it’s little and still tries to sit on my lap.” Keith rubs behind Shiro’s ears, careful not to push too hard. “Or maybe a few dogs? Like a bonded pair that need to be adopted together? Because obviously I’d do a dog rescue. But anyway, I fantasize about getting a dog.”</p><p>“That’s good,” Shiro says, mind drifting. Keith’s voice is so pretty. So warm and easy to fall into, like his arms, like his heart. </p><p>“But a dog who likes people, you know? And other pets. Just in case.”</p><p>“In case of what?” Shiro asks, yawning against Keith’s stomach.</p><p>“In case there are people around. Or their pets.”</p><p>“For safety,” Shiro mumbles.</p><p>“Exactly, for safety.”  </p><p>Keith’s voice fades into a hushed white noise, warm and inviting as a bath. Shiro’s not sure if Keith’s talking about Samoyeds or Malamutes when he finally slips into sleep, but either way, he dreams of Keith and a huge, shaggy puppy walking between them as they walk hand in hand. </p><p>++</p><p>“Shiro.”</p><p>“Shiro!”</p><p>Keith’s voice is so close, but Shiro can’t get to him. Jagged flames rise up on both sides of him, raining ash over his head. He tries to run, but his legs give out under him, and he falls. He shouts, the sound ringing in his ears.</p><p>“Shh, baby,” Keith says, one hand on Shiro’s forehead and the other pressed over his thundering heart. “You’re safe. You were dreaming.”</p><p>“Keith.” Shiro shudders, his breathing harsh in his chest. Just as he starts to get his breath back, the coughing starts again, paining his ribs and his stomach. He feels like he’s being ripped in two. “What,” he gasps, “time is it?”</p><p>“Don’t worry about the time.” Keith kisses his temple. “You need more meds. Your fever’s back up.” </p><p>“It’s late,” Shiro says, shaking his head. It feels like it weighs fifty pounds. “You should go back to sleep.”</p><p>“And leave you to your sweaty, sad fate all on your own? Yeah, right.” Keith even pitches his voice a little softer, as if somehow he knows how much Shiro’s head feels like it might split. “Let me get the meds.” He sits up, using the light from his phone to see by as he fusses with the basket next to the bed.</p><p>The sudden urge of his bladder makes Shiro wince in the dark. He’s not even sure if he gets on his feet if he’ll make it to the bathroom. Being weak like this, so helpless, brings back bad memories, ones he’s shoved down, ones when he belonged to no one. He lets out a soft groan, partly from the pain in his head and partly from the way his body shakes. </p><p>“You’re all tense, sweetheart. What do you need?” Keith’s fingers trace over his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. </p><p>“I, um, need,” Shiro lets his head rest on Keith’s shoulder. It should feel super awkward to tell Keith, and yet, somehow, it’s not. “To pee.”</p><p>Before Shiro says another word, Keith’s out of bed, coming around to the other side. “You’re dizzy. Let me help.”</p><p>Shiro stares up at what little of Keith he can see in the illumination from the night light. “How did you know?”</p><p>“Because you would have just gone.” Keith slips under Shiro’s left arm, helping bear his weight. “And because I always get lightheaded when I’m sick with a fever.” He gets Shiro on his feet. “Come on, big boy. We don’t have far to go.”</p><p>Keith walks beside him as if this is something they do every day, his hands warm and supportive. When they make it to the bathroom, Keith gets him to the toilet and he pauses. “You want me to stay or go outside?”</p><p>Shiro shakes his head. “I’m okay. I won’t fall.”</p><p>“Because I seriously will stay if you need me. I’m very anti-head-wounds-from-hitting-tile-floors-because-someone-tried-to-be-a-hero, you know?”</p><p>“I’ll be all right.”</p><p>Keith points at the door. “I’m right outside.”</p><p>It’s taken him a long time to internalize that Keith’s actually not just being nice, or saying what he thinks Shiro wants to hear. Keith would actually fucking stand next to him to help him pee if that’s what Shiro needed. It’s at once incredibly kind and on the other, incredibly overwhelming. </p><p>As soon as he’s finished, Keith’s waiting for him, holding out an elbow. “Let’s get you back in bed, yeah? Some meds, some water, and then you’ll be all set to get some more rest.”</p><p>It’s easy to lean on Keith, to let him lead, to let his sure footsteps fall alongside Shiro’s. Keith helps Shiro in on his side, pulling up blankets and rearranging his pillows before slipping in on the other side. He must have gotten the meds prepped while Shiro was in the bathroom, because as soon as Shiro’s propped up, he holds the offensive cough medicine up to Shiro’s lips. “I’ve got water for you. Just get it down. It really did help you rest.”</p><p>Shiro grimaces but he tips back the medicine. Keith’s right; as nasty as it tastes, he had been able to sleep for awhile. He thanks Keith softly before he takes a long swig of water, and then Keith hands him the acetaminophen, which he dry swallows. “You’re so good to me.”</p><p>“C’mere, my poor sick boy.” Keith opens up his arms and Shiro relaxes against him. He smooths his hand over Shiro’s hair, dragging it slowly down his neck and spine. “You probably don’t need my extra body heat right now on top of your fever, but you look like you could use some TLC.” </p><p>“I <i>do</i>need your body heat.” Shiro snuffles against Keith’s t-shirt until he rests his cheek against his chest. “Cold.” Keith’s heart beats steadily beneath Shiro’s ear, the cadence immediately sending a wave of peace right through him. The soft, rhythmic <i>lub-dub</i> soothes him, the sound so quintessentially Keith that it couldn’t belong to anyone else. Between Keith’s heartbeat and the gentle caress of his fingertips between Shiro’s shoulder blades, he can feel his rigid muscles giving up their tension.</p><p>Usually when he gets sick, he’s full of dread. The idea of being alone and the weight of his own independence is crushing when he’s ill. He likes to be the one taking care of other people. It’s why he’s in med school in the first place. Letting someone see him like this--feverish, weak, needy--is the last thing he wants.</p><p>But Keith isn’t just someone; he’s Keith. His former rules no longer apply. </p><p>“How’s the patient?” Keith says, kissing the top of his head. “You think you could sleep a little?”</p><p>“I feel like shit.” Shiro covers his cough with his elbow, struggling to catch his breath as Keith rubs his back. “But once the,” he says, swallowing painfully, “cough med kicks in, I think maybe.” He pats Keith’s ribs. “I know you can sleep, though. You should.”</p><p>“I do fine without a lot of sleep.”</p><p>“No one does fine without a lot of sleep,” Shiro grunts. “Not even you.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” Keith takes a deep breath, exhaling it out in a sigh. “I don’t like you sick, but I do like having you right here, all cozied up.”</p><p>“You’ll be mad at me if you get sick, though.” </p><p>Keith’s voice takes on a stroke of gallantry, which is pretty impressive considering it’s 3:30am. “I absolutely will not be mad. Besides, if you could see yourself right now, you’d understand why I’m staying right here.”</p><p>“I’m that pathetic?” Shiro offers.</p><p>“No, baby. You look like you’re hurting and I don’t want you by yourself.”</p><p>“Oh.” Shiro squeezes tight around Keith’s ribs. “Thank you. For staying.”</p><p>Keith gives a soft laugh. “I’d rather be right here with you than anywhere else.” He tips his head back. “Well, okay, maybe with you at the beach, when you’re not sick and when we don’t have lectures then next day.”</p><p>As ill as Shiro is, he can’t stop picturing Keith in swim trunks, him shirtless under the sun, how the ocean breeze would catch his hair. “You’d look hot. All pretty and,” Shiro stops, his brain struggling to find words given the way his head aches. “You know. Wet.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah? You’d like a little beach day?” Keith’s fingers creep under Shiro’s shirt, kneading light lit over the base of his spine. “Your hair would look like magic in the sunshine. To say nothing of how gorgeous you’d look, your body in a pair of shorts, those thighs just making my mouth water. You bare-chested, so strong and beautiful, and anytime I want, I can go for a hug and get a little sneaky listen to your heart.”</p><p>Shiro can hear Keith’s heartbeat pick up a little as he talks, an obvious zip of excitement running through him at just the thought of Shiro. Under other circumstances, he’d be turned on for sure, but in his current state, it just makes him feel relaxed and safe, knowing that Keith’s dreaming out loud about them together and carefree. “You sneak listen to my heart when we hug?”</p><p>Keith kisses his crown. “Of course I do. It’s one of the many, many perks of having a taller boyfriend. I can just slide in there and get a nice little earful. It’s especially choice right after we kiss and you’re all flustered and poundy.” </p><p>“You like me a little flustered,” Shiro says, smiling in spite of how awful he feels.</p><p>“I mean, you, a little blushy, a little excited, what’s not to love?” Keith gives a gentle laugh.  “Plus studies show your pecs have been shown to increase happy brain chemicals. Shove my face in there, instant mood boost.”</p><p>“You conducting these studies?”</p><p>“Hell, yeah. I got a grant. We have a lot of work to do, though, lots of research. I gotta get back at it once you’re better.”</p><p>A weak cough shakes out of him. “I’ll try to be quick about it.”</p><p>Shiro closes his eyes, focusing on Keith’s gentle breathing and the easy rhythm of his heartbeat. His skin feels clammy, his throat hurts and his body aches, but Keith’s closeness soothes some of the pain, and even the way his fingers stroke over Shiro’s scalp makes the tight band around his head start to ease. </p><p>They settle into a quiet space, neither of them asleep, just breathing and holding one another in the dark. So many times in the past, Shiro’s dreaded nights of being sick, of the loneliness and the fear of needing help and being alone, but Keith’s presence is like the moon lamp, a warm light keeping the darkness at bay. </p><p>“You think you can sleep?” Keith says, voice soft. The back of his hand presses against Shiro’s forehead again. “I think your fever’s going down a little.”</p><p>Shiro resettles against Keith’s chest. “I’ll try.”</p><p>“Good boy,” Keith whispers. “I’m here if you need me.”</p><p>Shiro lets the praise wash over him, his body going lax as Keith's dexterous fingers move across his hair. The knowledge that Keith’s not going anywhere, that he’ll be there when Shiro wakes up, is almost too much to process. A calm settles over him, slowing his pulse as his eyes flutter shut. With Keith beside him, there’s no safer place to be.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks so much for reading!</p><p>I'm on tw @ starlitruns  ✨</p></blockquote></div></div>
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